


Maladict(a)

by SansSerif



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Book: Monstrous Regiment, Canon Genderbending, Hints of Polly/Mal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 05:51:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1458247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SansSerif/pseuds/SansSerif
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Polly believed Maladicta when she joined the group confession that really, they were girls. Why would anyone lie about being a girl? (Intentionally ambiguous ending)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maladict(a)

It was Shufti’s idea. There was the whole War is Over celebration and Shufti said, a bit defiantly, that she would wear a dress because why should she be ashamed of being a woman?

The others jumped on board pretty fast and Polly didn’t have the heart to object. There wouldn’t be much harm in it, would there? Everyone knew now and even if it was a lot more convenient to wear trousers maybe a dress wouldn’t be so bad.

So dresses were procured and the squad managed to get a room in the fort to themselves. More surprises came out of nearly everyone’s luggage. Hair bows, brushes, make up… Polly watched with some bemusement, having grown up in a nearly all male household. Sure, there were women that visited the Duchess but she hadn’t really paid attention to them. However the other girls were happy to help and she found herself swept up in the tide.

One thing came to another and Polly found herself back in the familiar role of cleaning up after other people. The other skirts had whisked through the door before she had given the room a last once over. It was then that she noticed that Maladicta stood in the corner, watching with the easy nonchalance only a vampire could achieve. Most conspicuously, Maladicta was still in the clothing that counted as her uniform. Polly raised her eyebrows in question. 

“Didn’t want to ask in front of the others,” Maladicta said with an easiness that nearly betrayed nervousness. “They’d laugh. At least you’ve seen rich people.” She gestured at the dress in the corner. “I don’t know how to put it on. Part of being a vampire, we always have maids and such.”

“You’ve never dressed yourself?” Polly watched her with puzzlement. “But… you’re not in the same clothes as you were when we started.”

“Oh, _trousers_ ,” Maladicta said as if it explained everything. “No odd laces and bows and peculiar undergarments.” She unhitched herself from the wall. “Could you help me? I expect I can figure out some parts but…”

“I’ll get Shufti, she seems to know about dresses,” Polly answered. “Really, you don’t want me. Did you see how much the others helped?”

“No!” Maladicta moved forward, hands grasping before she remembered herself and stopped, taking a breath for composure. “Just… just you. Please?”

There was something so heartfelt in the please — and since when did vampires sincerely plead? — that Polly couldn’t say no. She took the other tactic that she knew, remembering a long ago mother she had. “All right. Strip.”

“Turn your back.” Maladicta’s color was definitely rising.

Polly raised her eyebrows. “Sorry?”

“Turn your back,” Maladicta repeated, firmer.

“Maladicta, we’re both girls,” Polly said. “You saw this room. No one cares here.”

“I do. Turn your back!” Her voice rising slightly, Maladicta looked like a vaguely demented vampire, always a worrying thing. Polly decided it was best to do as she said but she made a show about it.

“Thank you.” There was the rustling noises of clothing being undone and dropped to the floor. Fingernails scrabbled against the floor as Maladicta searched for something.

“D’you want help?” Polly asked, glancing over her shoulder to see Maladicta searching for petticoats.

“Polly!” Maladicta’s arms instinctively tightened over her body even though all Polly could see was her back. “Don’t look!” The slightly hysterical note had returned, so unlike the usually suave vampire.

“Maladict…a?” Polly asked cautiously. The stumble on the last letter was an accident but it planted an irreversible seed in Polly’s mind that sprouted faster than any natural plant. “Mal? You… you have worn a dress before, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Mal replied defensively as rustlings told Polly that petticoats were hurriedly being pulled on. 

But that didn’t mean anything, Polly knew. Look at the colonel, talking about Wigglesworth. She tried to remember any time that she had seen a sign of Mal’s possibly false male-hood slipping or being too good, like hers. Nothing. But nothing to indicate she— he? was female, anyway.

“You can turn back now.”

Polly did so and opened her mouth to ask something more direct but stopped, seeing the look of pleading on the vampire’s usually aloof face. Her mouth hung open for a moment before she remembered herself and closed it. They watched each other’s eyes before Polly broke the silence with the first normal thing she could think of. “Arms over your head, Mal. Only way to get a dress over those skirts.”

Pure gratefulness flashed over Mal’s face before it slid back into its usual nonchalance. She— he? Polly really couldn’t decide but figured it was safer to go with she — lifted her arms and Polly found a stool to stand on, lowering the dress over her body. Polly hesitated. “You… you’ll have to adjust it.” If it had been one of the other girls she wouldn’t have hesitated to just tug in the right places but she didn’t want a vampire freaking out on her, not even a black ribboner.

Mal nodded and tugged at the fabric. Her hands were experienced enough to know which parts wanted tugging, Polly would give her that. When she finished, Polly was ready with a bow for her hair, which she had kept longer than the other girls, perhaps out of confidence that no one would question a vampire. Next Polly tried to offer some makeup but Mal made a face and pushed it away. Polly let it go. She stepped back to get a full look before hesitantly stepping forward again, hands out stretched to tweak the skirt just right. Mal didn’t seem to mind; in fact, she reached for Polly’s hands, keeping her close.

“Don’t tell the others, Polly. Just between you and me.”

Polly looked up, meeting her eyes and not quite managing to look away. She was too aware of the fabric beneath her hands, padding the slender body beneath. Who was Mal? _What_ was Mal? And why the hell was she thinking about it, it didn’t matter. Did it?

“Polly?”

“Just you and me,” Polly nodded. Mal’s hands pressed against hers in thanks for a moment before letting go. Hurriedly, Polly stepped back and Mal moved towards the door.

“Can’t be worse than a battle, can it?” she asked with a quirk of a smile before moving through it with all the grace a vampire could muster.

“…No,” Polly answered belatedly. She had no idea what had just happened there. “I don’t think it can.”

 


End file.
